The Poe Toaster
by notyourleo
Summary: While some men are just too interesting to die, some men are just too interesting to forget. The life of Reynolds Mackay, friend of Edgar Allan Poe, as told by Henry Sturges—Book verse. Rated T for Violence.
1. Intro

"_Surely God would not have created such a being as man, with an ability to grasp the infinite, to exist only for a day! No, no, man was made for immortality."—__**Abraham Lincoln.**_

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**The Poe Toaster**

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- Introduction -

_**January 19, 1936**__. A young boy around the age of seventeen was camping at the graveyard with his two friends. It was silly dare, to stay up all night and brave the said horrors of the cemetery they were in. His two friends were asleep, heads lying on cold smooth rocks, thick blankets over their bodies to warm themselves. The boy remained awake, near the fire that they have tended hours ago, now all ashes and sparks. A small oil lamp besides him was the only thing that illuminated his writing in his journal, although very dimly._

_The boy yawned and closed the notebook, leaned at a stone wall, then sighed. He did not bring a watch, but he could read the sky. It was early morning, and maybe a few more hours until the sun would rise up, and then the dare would be accomplished._

_The boy looked around the cemetery. Nothing but cold and gray and bluish darkness._

_He yawned again and laid his head on the ground, turned off the lamp, and closed his eyes._

_He heard something faint in a distance. Footsteps, crunching on the snow and brown leaves. The boy opened his eyes. _

_And he saw him._

_A man in dark clothing, holding a cane with one hand, carrying roses and a bottle with the other. He was walking rather slowly, but gracefully, weaving through the dirt pathway of the cemetery. The boy watched carefully, curious as to what the gentleman wanted with a dead man, having to come here this early in the morning. The boy wanted to wake up his two friends and tell them about this, watched with him this peculiar incident that was happening, but he was afraid that he might miss something._

_The gentlemen stopped in front of an old worn grave. He laid his roses on the stone in a fashion, brandished a cup from his coats and opened the bottle he was carrying, his cane leaning on his side. Then with the cup in his hands, he raised his glass as if in a toast, and drank. The man seemed to linger for a while before putting the cup and the bottle down the grave, besides the bundle of roses. The man made a small bow, and walked away with the cane in his hand._

_The boy waited for a long time until the gentleman was out of sight. Then he grabbed the lamp and walked quickly to the grave the man had once been._

_The cognac bottle was still full, and the roses were arranged in a peculiar fashion. He brought the lamp up to see to whom the grave belonged. There was a bird—a raven—engraved on the top of the stone. And the stone said:_

_Original Burial  
Place of  
Edgar Allan Poe._

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_A/N: This is supposed to be a long oneshot that is supposed to be posted on Edgar Allan Poe's birthday last month. But, ah, life happened. I also decided to cut the oneshot into parts, but when the story is done I will post it as a oneshot in other websites. __I may come back to revise the introduction. Sorry if it's too boring. The next part will come shortly. And I love reviews, guys, even if this is still incomplete._


	2. I

**I**

Publicity is not exactly the thing that we vampires seek. Save for the occasional few that I'm afraid I will not name, of course. (I will leave that to your imagination.) But let me assure you that Edgar Allan Poe was not a vampire, and he never was. He died a human on October 7, 1849. Before that, he was found in the streets, dying and shaking, in clothes that were not his. In his bed he kept calling out for Reynolds, a man they have not yet identified, and still remained a mystery (although they may have already dropped the investigation more than a century ago), save for himself, and a few well-known individuals (and myself).

Reynolds is a vampire, and a dear friend of Poe's. They had met through mutual acquaintance, through Guy de Vere, another vampire. Reynolds was fascinated by Poe's work and Poe about Reynolds upbringing. So, for the duration of the tale, I will be revealing to you the story of a man named Reynolds Mackay, friend of Edgar Allan Poe. How he came to be a vampire, his relationship with the eponymous author, his life in the present era.

Reynolds was raised in the town of Baltimore, the only son, raised by a well-known family back in the time. And they still are today, now bearing a different family name. (I sadly cannot provide the current family name, as I do not have permission to do so.) It also happened that the family has strong ties with vampires. Back when America was still being colonized, Reynolds's grandfather, a winemaker—a Richard Mackay—was spared during the 'razing' of his colony in exchange of making 'blood wine' for the two vampires that were part of his group. They had realized that they could make a lot of mess, after devouring almost everyone, save the winemaker, in plain sight.

The vampires decided to be settled in another neighboring colony just a few miles away from their own, and they brought along Mackay. Every dead of the night one of the vampires would invite a settler to the house of the winemaker, leave, and then and there, Mackay was forced to exhume blood from him, watching the poor man die in front of his eyes slowly. The blood would be then bottled and stored, and the remaining skin and bones to be buried under the wooden floorboard of Mackay's home.

The two vampires would be seen sitting in front of their home chatting merrily and drinking wine in the next day, often calling out to the tired and worn winemaker to join them.

More vampire connections were made with Mackay, and the man was forced to kill more and more every night. He was allowed to start a family. The Mackay's wife and son's lives were threatened if the winemaker would stop. The family was forced to help the breadwinner. It was their darkest secret. But they were protected by the vampires; when there was the slightest crack that could reveal the family's nightly activities, the vampires would cover them completely.

The Mackay's son had a wife, and they both have a child. The winemaker begged his two vampire masters to let his son's family move out of his household, and free from the life that his masters had brought upon them, and that he himself would work harder than the usual. Reluctantly, his masters agreed, and the winemaker quickly sent his son and family into hiding before the vampires would change their minds.

The years had passed. The settlement had grown into a small town, and then, a large city. His son had decided to become a winemaker, like his father, but he would not be making wine for the vampires, to the relief of his father. They had sent friendly letters to each other, and occasionally sketches or drawings of young Reynolds. It lightened Mackay's heart that his son's family was doing well, and had started anew. He prayed that his grandson would remain to have clean hands.

Mackay's wife eventually passed away and now he was alone. The vampires had not yet given him a break. He was growing angry and tired. He waited for rest. He awaited death. But nothing was given to him. His time alone made him think. Mackay finally snapped one night when a vampire associate of his had brought a woman to his house. After bottling away the young woman's life, he grabbed a wooden stake, and while handing the bottle to the vampire, made a blow to the heart.

The man bottled the vampire's dark blood next.

He kept on until over a year, inviting a vampire associate of his to watch how he exhumed blood from the victims, and then killing them afterwards. Maybe because Mackay was very used to his job for decades, or an act of victorious vengeance, or there was a twisted part of him like that of his masters that was slowly growing inside him. Whatever the reason, the man had set up a very small room where he displayed the blood of his vampires proudly. A small step for a revolution. But he always had to lock the door.

Eventually his masters had figured his actions, after growing suspicious and looking very closely at the hidden pattern of the winemaker's nightly activities. Coming to his home with stout child, hiding their true intent, one of the masters stayed to watch the winemaker while the other looked around his home. Founding the locked door, the vampire tried to pry it open. After a couple of attempts, he managed to destroy the lock, and found the bottles on the shelves. To the master, this did not strike as odd immediately.

Until the vampire decided to uncork a bottle and taste the blood.

The dead blood of his own kind.

The vampire coughed and dropped the bottle, which shattered at his feet. He turned and quickly walked away from the room and to the exhumation room, to inform his comrade of this discovery, confirming their suspicions.

But instead he found his comrade on the ground, eyes wide looking at the ceiling, dark blood flowing on the rotting wooden floor. There was a dark hole in his heart. The winemaker was holding a shining silver knife on his left hand, his wrinkled face full of shadows, eyes wild. He turned his attention to the vampire at the doorway, whose mouth was gaping. But he swiftly fled out of the house when Mackay had started to chase him out, knife high above his head.

The next day had the frantic vampire warn his other associates of Mackay. It took him a while to gather his wits before convincing his other friends of his plans. A week later, the vampire master came back to the house of the winemaker. No one was home. His dead associate was still on the ground. The door to the room full of vampire blood was open wide. Mackay had already run away after killing his second master.

The vampire master had expected this. He sent out the others to find him, while he made his way to the town where the family of the winemaker's son stayed.

Mackay was eventually found, in a forest located near a town, sleeping. The vampires quickly took advantage, dragged him to his son's mansion, forced him on his knees and made him watch as his son and daughter-in-law and the maids and servants and workers slowly die in front of his eyes, and taking out the small baby from the wife's womb and feasting on it. Mackay could only cry out and beg his remaining master not to harm his son's family.

"Reflect on what you have done, my dearest Richard," his master said, his voice rough like two rusted knives scraped each other.

They confronted Mackay and sucked out most of the blood in him, and let him die on the floor. But before he closed his eyes, his former vampire master pushed the young Reynolds on the ground facing his grandfather. The young man was crying and thrashing, screaming for his mother and father and unborn little sister. The vampires forced Reynolds mouth open and hold his nose, and the vampire master cut his wrist and let the drops of blood fall on the young man's mouth.

"You are very lucky to die, Richard," the vampire said. "But your Reynolds, I'm afraid, is not." He grabbed a fistful of Mackay's hair and turned the man's head to his grandson. "Watch him very carefully. The beauty of our transformation is as near as the beauty of your skill to create wine."

Mackay was forced to watch his only grandson writhe in agony, screaming and crying, slowly turning into the kind of his spiteful masters. The last thing the helpless winemaker saw before everything faded was the victorious cruel smile of his master.

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_A/N: Really rough, and I'll go back to revising this in the near future. Review, please?_


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